“Do you think so?” asked the little knight, with joy; and again he looked at Basia, and again thought involuntarily, “But that rogue is charming in this moonlight.”
They were near Ketling’s house now, and arrived in a short time. Pani Makovetski and Krysia were asleep; a few of the servants were up, waiting with supper for Basia and Pan Zagloba. All at once there was no small movement in the house; Zagloba gave command to wake more servants to prepare warm food for the guests.
Pan Makovetski wished to go straightway to his wife; but she had heard the unusual noise, and guessing who had come, ran down a moment later with her robe thrown around her, panting, with tears of joy in her eyes, and lips full of smiles; greetings began, embraces and conversation, interrupted by exclamations.
Pan Michael was looking continually at the door, through which Basia had vanished, and in which he hoped any moment to see Krysia, the beloved, radiant with quiet joy, bright, with gleaming eyes, and hair twisted up in a hurry; meanwhile, the Dantzig clock standing in the dining-room ticked and ticked, an hour passed, supper was brought, and the maiden beloved and dear to Pan Michael did not appear in the room.
At last Basia came in, but alone, serious somehow, and gloomy; she approached the table, and taking a light in her hand, turned to Pan Makovetski: “Krysia is somewhat unwell, and will not come; but she begs uncle to come, even near the door, so that she may greet him.”
Pan Makovetski rose at once and went out, followed by Basia.
The little knight became terribly gloomy and said, “I did not think that I should fail to see Panna Krysia to-night. Is she really ill?”
“Ei! she is well,” answered his sister; “but people are nothing to her now.”
“Why is that?”
“Then has his grace, Pan Zagloba, not spoken of her intention?”